Potestatem obscuri lateris nescis
by BalrogGodZanus
Summary: An unknown heritage can change the world. It can topple nations and cause even the mightiest mountains to tremble at the foundations. Harry Potter has an unknown heritage and it will change more than just this world...
1. Prologue

A/N: This is a new story I am starting as I have had the idea for a while now and someone, namely Crimson Embers, check out that authors excellent story _Wolflei_, has requested that I start work on this. I would like to assure all who think that this story will remain second in my writing priorities to Empire. I will not abandon this story, but there will often be a significant time between updates, but I pledge you, the Reader, that I will not voluntarily abandon this story in the middle. So now just sit back, relax, keep your hands, arms and all other appendages inside the ride at all times, and enjoy the show. BTW, this is a prologue and I should warn you, and I am very left wing, so most politics will tend to sound like socialist or communist party dogma. I will also attempt to make this a Harry/Harem story. If you do not like any of this then click the back button and do not read it.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the LotR series or any other characters, plots, and/or themes that you may find. In fact, I am quite sure that I cannot even claim the basic plotline as my own as I am sure that someone out there came up with it before me.

Potestatem obscuri lateris nescis 

Prologue

The Presidential Quarters, Cirith Ungôl

Legolas looked up at the Sickle of the Valar, thinking of the child stolen from him and his mate, the Dark Lord Sauron. Contrary to how Sauron is portrayed to be a heartless bastard who would burn the world to ashes, the Dark Lord was actually a very caring Dark Elf. He had been painted with a very black brush because he challenged the status quo, the very idea that only kings could rule the land. Once he won the war, the kingdoms of Middle-earth turned into democracies and republics, ruled by the collective strength and will of the people. However, they all gave deference to Sauron, the one who allowed them to prosper as true functioning societies, instead of stagnating under the ineffective leadership of the former class systems, which had caused endless wars. Now they lead themselves to the Promised Land, a truly perfect societal system, all due to the Dark Lord Sauron.

Their child had only been a few hours out of the blonde elf's womb, when a wizard who looked like the slain Gandalf kidnapped him and wounded Legolas so that he could never bear another child. He and his mate had scoured Middle-Earth searching for their lost son vowing to annihilate those who had taken their child. However, that had been years ago, and after five years of furious searching the beleaguered parents had given in to the perceptible reality that the might never find their son. Even though they had given up the search, they never forgot their son, Aranethon Caundaugion Arandorion Balamaethor, the light of their lives. Legolas watched the Sickle of the Valar forlornly thinking that his son should have been beside him learning the lore of his heritage. However, that would be only a dream until his son came into his inheritance when his son's magic would call out to his _adars_, then they would be reunited as a family.

#4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

One Harry Potter sat on the roof of his 'relatives' –if you could call people who starved, thrashed and belittled you on a regular basis that- house looking up at the stars, wondering what it would be like to have a true family. As he looked up at the Big Dipper, he felt a strange sense of longing and despair, he knew that these emotions not his, but before he could examine these foreign emotions further they disappeared. He quickly brushed off the strange emotions as he remembered his link with Tom Riddle, also the so-called Lord Voldemort. He then glanced at his watch and he attempted to get back inside the house quietly, so as not to awake the whale that called itself his uncle. He winced in pain as he smacked his bruised shoulder, a generous early birthday present his uncle had given him, against the side of the house on his way to the ground. He managed to make it to his bedroom without further incident and he played his traditional waiting game for his birthday to arrive. At precisely 12am on July 31 1996, a power spike the likes of which had never been felt before spread throughout this world and many others, noticed by all but three in particular. Sauron and Legolas knew where their child was, and Albus Dumbledore knew that all of plans for the Demon-child were coming undone. Little did anyone suspect how much their world was about to change.


	2. Meet the Parents

A/N: I would like to say thank you to all who have put this story on their alerts, favorites, etc. I am also putting out a general call to all who would like to help me on this story. I am not very good at character dialogue and frankly, I need a co-author, otherwise you will get good descriptions of things but very shitty dialogue. If you are interested than please say so in a review and I will get in touch with you as soon as I possibly can.

The wave of power swept over the earth, touching and reacting to each thing in its path. Every human being and magical creature could feel that there had been a massive shift in the balance of power, and that all of their lives would be affected in some way. The wave had varying effects on different people: on a man who was barely half-human it caused intense pain. On several women around the British Isles, it caused intense pleasure, so intense in fact that they had an orgasm in less than ten. Moreover, within the girls' minds, a voice penetrated into their dreams almost forcing them back to sleep, all the while whispering, "Soon, my loves, soon we will be united and crush those who have oppressed us and our souls." To an old man sitting a castle far to the north, the wave caused intense dread that one child would soon be the undoing of all of his hard work.

The wave of power circled the globe twice before a tear in the space-time-dimensional continuum opened, and after that, the power held the wormhole open until its purpose was completed. Through this rupture in the very fabric of universe stepped two men, one tall and dark with intense red eyes, and the other was tall, lithe, and fair-skinned and fair-haired. These men were on a mission, to find their son, and to seek vengeance against those that had caused them such pain. These men were elves, and to steal a child from an elf is to invite all the wrath of the Valar upon your being, for the elves had paid a high price for their near-immortality; they could only have children once a century. The only thing that was more heinous to an elf than stealing a child was the absolute sin of abusing such a precious gift. They had felt their son cry out to their beings several times throughout his life, but they were unable to alleviate his pain. Now they would never let any force in either the heavens or the earth separate them from their precious child.

When Harry first opened his eyes, he saw two men with whom he felt an unexplainable connection, and he felt almost completely at ease.

The first words out of his mouth were, "Who are you?" Then he followed that up with an even more intelligent question. Namely, "What are you?"

The blonde-haired person one spoke first, but all that came out was a whole lot of gibberish.

For a moment, Harry sat there with a stupid look on his face as he tried to place if he had ever heard that language before. Then he tried to place it as any language on the planet Earth. Needless to say, he failed dismally in both endeavors and was at even more of a loss as to how he would communicate with the two pointy-eared thingamabobs in his room. He surmised that since these beings cannot speak English then more than likely they would not be able to read English. Moreover, he very much doubted that any crude attempts at sign language would fare any better than asking them a question, and would serve no purpose, other than to make him look like an idiot. He had had quite enough of Hermione Granger, or as Harry secretly called her the PT Barnum runaway, thinking that of him anyway. Although technically she no longer fit that description since fourth year, the name stuck in his mind.

He had seen in many cheesy movies that he had snuck peeks at when he was younger where one of the main characters pointed to himself and said "Me, blah blah." He figured that he could at least try that method, and thankfully, there was no one but the two characters around to remind him that he had to resort to something so clichéd. Feeling supremely stupid and hoping that he did not look as big a fool as he felt, he pointed to himself and clearly said "Me, Harry."

Unfortunately for Harry, stupid is a universal language, so the two beings broke down into hysterical laughter anyway. The blush Harry sported could have made one mistake him for a ripe tomato, or somebody doused in bright red paint. After the two elves got over their amusement, they imitated Harry and introduced themselves… well somewhat anyway. He got the gist of what they were trying to say and after about a minute, he knew both their names. The blonde haired one called Legolas was sort of creeping him out, he just stared at Harry, and it seemed like he never even blinked. The Dark haired elf's name seemed familiar, but Harry just could not place where he might have heard such a name as Sauron before. He knew that he had heard it somewhere before, but as to where and when, he drew absolute blanks.

He tried to talk to the elves in French, German, Italian, Chinese and Arabic, but all the different languages that Harry had learnt in secret met with the same results. Harry remembered vaguely reading about a translation spell that had been designed for exactly this type of situation, and he quickly set to work finding the exact spell. He had 'liberated' a book from the schools resident book Nazi, no not that one, the one otherwise known as Madam Pince, in the hopes that he might do something productive this summer. Regrettably, after only a week, his Uncle Vernon had decided that Harry needed to learn his place, so there was no time for reading.

He found the spell, and quickly cast it at the two elves, and as he did, both of the elves looked like they had seen a ghost. The first words that they said and Harry half-understood were, "You are an Istari!" At that Harry was completely perplexed as to what in the hell an Istari was or did.

"Um, do you think you could say that again, please?" Harry tentatively asked the two tall elves, with a hint of fear in his voice.

"What we meant _mellon nin_, is that you are one who can use magic," Sauron told him in a calm soothing voice like rich leather.

"We are surprised because never before has an Elf been gifted the power to manipulate the very life energy of the earth," Legolas told him quickly, in his smooth tenor voice.

"Well, there are some problems with that statement right there. For one thing, I am not an Elf, I am 100 human, at least as far as I know. For another thing, magic isn't the life energy of the earth, magic just is," Harry told the two elves standing before him in a tone of finality.

The two elves looked at each other sadly, for this would be harder than they originally thought it would be. They had felt something clutched on their child's mind as they were talking to him. However, when Harry had begun to speak the magic radiated malevolence beyond anything the pair had ever felt in both of their near immortal lives. This thing seemed to be controlling the child's actions and his words, and they knew that if left in their child would eventually disappear and the only thing left would be an empty shell.

They made a quick decision to take their son back to their world and help him regain himself from the controls that were clouding his mind. When he was ready, they would bring him back to this world to avenge him, and they could sense that most of his mates were in this world. That was just another reason to come back to this world, and another reason to take possession of the entirety it.

They quickly grabbed Harry, knocked him out and went back through the wormhole that had brought them into this world. As soon as they were through the wormhole snapped shut, the bedroom door flew open and in came Albus Dumbledore and eight members of the Order. Dumbledore cursed that they were too late, and now the 'Darkest of Dark Lords' had kidnapped Harry. He would not see Harry again until the beginning of the school year, and by then Harry's eyes would have been opened to the truth of his life.


	3. Homeward Bound

The lands of Middle earth may have been freed from their capitalist oppressors, but the class system had not improved all that much. It would take many generations for the class system that had been in place to be abolished, and for the peasants to finally be equal to the former lords. One way that this lack of social progress shone through was the near incessant use of honorifics, such as milord, milady, master and the like. Their use was so widespread, it would make Lenin have a stroke, and Stalin would go into a coma.

One particular elf by the name of Beriadanwe Valainistima Tucagwathiel, although she liked to be called Beri, was waiting impatiently for her Lords to return, and when they did, she would give them a tongue lashing that they would remember until the stars rained down from the heavens. She was their personal aide, and in theory, they were not supposed to take breaths, sleep or process victuals without her knowing about it. In practice, however, the Dark Lord Sauron and his mate Legolas delighted in causing her nervous breakdowns and mild heart attacks, Legolas providing the former and Sauron the latter; although Sauron provided the heart attacks much more frequently by appear out of nowhere, literally. These entrances often were accompanied by loud noises and occasionally a bright flash of light, although not often.

As she was pacing about nervously in her Lords bedchambers, Sauron provided one of his signature entrances, along with a very nice light show. When Sauron and Legolas stepped out of the portal, the first thing they saw was an unconscious Beri, and they both smothered giggles at the sight. On the other hand, as much as they would have liked to leave her there, they needed her help in caring for their son. Neither of them had a gift in the area of healing either the mind or body, and she was one of the best in the whole of middle earth. They revived her after composing themselves, and they quickly got down to the business of freeing their son from the grip of the mind constraints.

"My Lords, is this boy Aranethon, have you finally found your son? He looks like he came off worse in a fight with a horde of orcs!" Beri yelled out, wondering what happened to the poor boy. The boy truly did look like death warmed over; his face looked like a raw steak and his body was almost entirely black and blue.

"Yes Beri, he is our son, now we need your help in healing both his body and mind. We think who ever kidnapped him has been controlling his mind to make him more obedient." Sauron told the young elf, while stripping his son so Beri could have easier access if she needed it. Although as soon as the 'clothes' came off, he was filled with a rage that made the fires of Mount Doom seem like an enraged snail having a tantrum. His son's body painted almost entirely black and blue from the bruises, all in various stages of healing, but one could still see that they held the shape of human hands.

For the next half hour or so talking between the Lords of middle earth and Beri kept to minimum and they played orderlies, getting her what she required from wherever it was. For the most part, they watched in silence as their son's true body came into being, seeing his elvish features appearing for the first time. Just finishing taking care of the physical side of the healing took the better part of an hour, and then came the comparatively hard part.

As the mind control was of a magical sort, her elven healing methods would have only a limited effect, and past that her Lords would have to convince their son that they were speaking the truth. Although, that would be problematical, because Harry had told to hate everything of the dark side, and to beware of the many forms that evil could take. Moreover, being kidnapped from his 'relatives' house in the middle of the night was one thing that could definitely qualify a person as evil, or at least as not lily-white.

When Harry woke up, the first thing he did was to try to figure out whether the events of last night had been a dream. However, just when he had almost convinced himself that they were and that he just needed some deep psychoanalysis, he heard one of the voices from the night before, and all hell broke loose. Then he started screaming, mostly about why they had done this, can't you speak English, and about a dozen other things, but few of them were very relevant to his situation.

Now, as you can imagine, the language barrier made both the explanation and interrogation more than a little difficult. Hell, just skip right on past difficult, stop at devilishly and mind numbingly difficult, where the level of difficulty would be more appropriate and closer to the mark. It was like a Frenchmen who can only speak French interrogating a Swahili peasant who can speak only Swahili about the advancement of nuclear fusion research in the last twenty years by Tibetan monks; and all of this is going on without an interpreter. Harry desperately wished for something like a Babel fish or that nifty translator thing on Star Trek, hell, at this point he would settle for English subtitles to appear near the bottom of his vision.

Just as he was thinking that, he noticed something about his vision; that it was perfect, and he knew he most certainly did not have his glasses on. It was better than perfect in fact, and most likely light years better than any human eyes could produce, even with the best possible genetics. When he got to thinking about that, he noticed that many other things about his body had changed, his eyesight being one of the smaller changes. He noticed that his hair had grown, an anomaly in of itself, and it had grown by almost two feet, and in a single night that is strictly impossible.

He also noticed that he was taller than he was only a few hours before, although this was not so much disturbing as it was a godsend. Before he had barely broken five feet, but now he guessed that he could easily be six foot two, if not more. However, even though this should have caused his center of gravity to be somewhat higher, and his balance and coordination to suffer greatly, he was as graceful as a ballet dancer was in his new body. Perhaps the most striking thing, at least to Harry anyway, was how his body now rippled with muscles that were defined very well. He had never seen any wizards or witches with muscles like his, or anything even close to what he had now; though that could be because most magical folk were simply too used to the instant gratification that magic so readily provides to bother with actually getting something for themselves. It felt like he had liquid steel under his skin, it made him feel powerful, and he felt that he could easily crumple sheets of titanium alloy. He was not stupid enough to try this however, as it would probably result in injured and, more than likely, absolutely destroyed hands, which would be bad, to say the least.

Then came the part of the self-inspection that might have gone better than it actually did, but that course was a very unlikely one and was not to be. Harry had found a mirror, and began looking at his face to see if he could still recognize himself, and one of the first things he noticed was a definite change in a certain part of his anatomy, more specifically his ears. At first, he wondered whether he was seeing things, but when he felt the point his heart rate skyrocketed and the adrenaline floodgates stormed open. Unfortunately, both of these natural and very understandable biological responses resulted in an entirely unwanted result; the fainting of the owner of both the cardio and adrenal systems, in this case Harry.

Up until this point both Legolas and Sauron had just been watching their son explore the changes that they had seen overtake his body while he was unconscious. Now they had to deal with their unconscious son for the second time in less then twelve hours, and they were beginning to see a pattern, which, hopefully, would not continue for very long. They too were utterly bamboozled as to how they could elucidate things to their child and they were coming up with ideas as to how they might be able to do this. Unfortunately, the longer this went on, the more completely nonsensical the ideas became, and the less likely they would work in their favor, and that ran counter to their interests. At one point, they considered having one of the nazgul assist them, but then they thought about how Aranethon would react to seeing something that looked like a herald of death hanging over him. Advantageously for both them and Harry they decided against this course of action, because even though Harry might be able to cope with more than a few shocks, the sight of a dementor-like thing hanging above him might cause him to die of utter fright. Of course, it might just cause him to pass out cold for the third time is so many days, which no one really wanted to happen.

Several hours later after going to the archives, Beri found a partial answer to their communication problems. She had found a record buried deep in the archives at Minas Tirith, which spoke of a traveler from another world who seems to have spoken the same language as the newly arrived Aranethon. The Steward of Gondor, Ecthelion, who'd been told by one of the istari that this man would shape the futures of countless millions, had met the visitor, he had even made a translation table of some common words, and phrases present in the traveler's bizarre language. Although the list was far from a comprehensive record, it would at least allow them to make some basic communication, and in the document, there was a reference made to a history of the lore of Middle Earth, which the traveler had seemed particularly interested in. Finally, the document listed the names of some the elves that had helped translate the traveler's questions and answers, although this was not much help. Most of the elves on the list either had gone to the Grey Havens or had disappeared into the wild places of the world, so they were all right out unless they somehow someone found one of them in the next year or so. She hoped for her lords' sanity, and her own, which was much more valuable, that Aranethon was a quick learner, otherwise she might give her two weeks notice.

A/N: I have gone about as far as I can without assistance. I will freely admit that when I write character dialogue it is bad, so bad that it actually made one-person claw out their own eyeballs. I need a collaborator, and who ever is kind and gracious enough to help me will be given due credit. Please help me, otherwise I will probably have the language difficulties go on for several chapters more, and I doubt anybody here wants that.


	4. Friends and Frauds

A/N: The opinions expressed by the Headmaster are in no way, shape, or form the opinions of the author. I personally have a live and let live policy to all persons that I encounter, and as such, I find bigotry in any form against any social, ethnic or political group to be reprehensible and evil at the very core.

Back on earth, the magical world was going to pieces over a single question: 'Where is Harry James Potter', a question that would not be answered for some time to come. Some portions of that world were more frantic than others, namely the Order of the Phoenix, while others were celebrating wildly, specifically the Dark Lord and his followers. The Order was in a right state because of Molly Weasely, who simply would not stop screeching about how she knew that Harry should not have been sent back to his relatives. A few of the assembled party simply rolled their eyes at this, for she had been one of the strongest supporters of the Headmasters 'glorious' plan for Harry. Arthur Weasely was as always passively going along with his wife, and he looked for the entire world to be the perfect definition of the word hen-pecked, which did not inspire one to look to him in any way. Nymphadora Tonks was cycling through facial features and hair colors so quickly that her head blended into one long blur, with few discernable traits staying for more than a few seconds at the most. Remus Lupin on the other hand was the picture of the state of calm, not pacing or whining about how 'I knew he shouldn't have been sent back there' and other nonsensical ravings, because he knew he had made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

Ginny Weasely, on the other hand, was much more worried about how this unfortunate occurrence would affect her plans for the future. She had worked for the better part of the last year on slowly dosing Harry with love potions, and now all of her hard work and the long hours of mind-numbing stirring of cauldrons had most likely gone to a complete waste. Even if Harry were found in the next week, which she considered extremely unlikely, she would have to start from scratch again, and she had used all her patience last year. The potions she had used on Harry were the simplest to make, but with the simplicity of production, there came an equally short half-life of sorts, but after eight months of uninterrupted dosing the effects would become mostly permanent. She had only planned to dose him long enough to get pregnant and then she would be Scot free, because are far as she knew, Harry's Gryffindor nature would not let a child he had made and the mother of the aforementioned child go to ruin. Maybe she could persuade the Headmaster to force Snape to give her the more powerful, permanent and infinitely less legal potions, and he would be able to cover for her if the authorities or Harry ever cottoned on to the plan.

Hermione Granger watched all of this with an air of dispassionate clinical observation, and if one knew her well, you could even detect the intense amusement she found from watching the barely controlled chaos of the Order Headquarters. She found the sight of Molly Weasely running about like a decapitated chicken to be one of the most amusing sights of this world, even though the sound of her voice, making its way through the octave scale every minute made one want to put her out of your misery. She knew the reason Ginny Weasely was pouting as if her favorite toy had been taken away, but for some incomprehensible rationale, please note the heavy sarcasm, she just could not bring herself to sympathize with the red-haired she-devil. She truly did not care for the way that the two youngest Weasely children took advantage of her first friend, but she was as much a prisoner as those held in the dungeons of Hogwarts, for the Headmaster forced her to be Ronald's girlfriend, much to her nausea. He had her between a rock and a hard place, she either played ball and pretended to be Ronald's loving girlfriend, or she would suddenly find herself without a home, her family or any of her memories. As much as she truly despised the unhygienic, insensitive, prejudiced specimen of swine that certain people forced her to spread her legs for, her love of her family outweighed the sheer disgust, so she grudgingly agreed to go along with the despicable actions of the headmaster.

Ronald Weasely is the typical leech one would expect to find hanging out near the boss's door just waiting for them to come out so he can make a blatantly brown-nosed remark, waiting for any scrap of praise. He saw Harry as the perfect inroad to the higher social circles, and as an easy way to gain some notoriety on the ski lift to the top of the social hierarchy mountain, but once the orphan served his purpose, he would go the way of the dodo. He only tolerated the company of the whiny little shit that was Harry because of three reasons, one: the little berk was famous; two: the berk was rich, and finally he was rich. When the Headmaster had come to his family, just before he had started Hogwarts and told them of his plans for the other boy, Ron had asked straight off, what the bottom line was for him, because he honestly did not give a shit about the rest of his family. When the twins had told him of their plan to get Harry out of the Headmasters control, they had told him in the confidence that Harry's best friend would not rat them out to either their mother or any of the other traitorous bastards that happened to be relatives. One thing they never figured on was the power of the greed that gripped their younger brother, and the fact that the old goat had the entire house under surveillance in case anybody chickened out.

The Headmaster saw all of this through the eyes of someone who it seemed had lost control of the situation, but in reality, he was giving himself a mental pat on the back, because he had conditioned these lower life forms so perfectly. The only one in his view that was a potential bump in the road was that Granger girl, but he still had her parents and younger sisters in the dungeons, so he worried very little about her and the problems she could bring. He had stolen the demon-child from the two evil beings and had saved it from a perverted upbringing by a sacrilege greater than any other, that of a man lying with a man. The mere thought of the two elves committing sodomy was enough to make him revisit his latest meal, although most of the time he was able to put on a very convincing act, complete with twinkling eyes. He could barely keep the act together at the end of the creature's first year in _**his**_ school, but through time, he saw that the conditioning he had implemented was having an effect, as the child had gradually become more and more dependent on him and the others placed around him. The child never questioned the politics of his situation, nor did he examine the politics and positions pushed by his compatriots and companions, such as the underlying racism of Ron Weasely, the quasi-fascist policies implemented in various parts of the British wizarding world, or the palpable xenophobia and intolerance of free thought contaminating all facets of the magical society. This had made controlling the child much easier, and with only a few minor adjustments in personality, he would sing the praises and opinions of a corrupt society not seen since the days of Nazi Germany in 1936, with many similar policies and dispositions in the forefront. Regrettably, the child had disappeared before Dumbledore could move into the final stages of his plans, and in doing so had forced him to accelerate his timetable sufficiently to match his new goals, which also meant that when the child came back, considerably more "active" measures of control would have to emplace themselves.

Minerva McGonagall started the discussion on the problem of what to **do**. "Okay, now that we have heard several wild accusations against many people, somehow including the American President Andrew Jackson, what do you screaming ninnies propose we actually do? And Molly, if you open your mouth I swear to Merlin that I will turn you into something that doesn't have vocal cords, and is easy to squash under a shoe."

"Would you all kindly shut up? A plan is being formulated at this time, and when that plan is formulated, we will release it to those who need to know when they need to know it." Thankfully, the master of governmental double-speaking, Arthur Weasely, stepped in and said unequivocally nothing while speaking very loudly, a trait which all politicians seem to possess, along with an innate sense of how to do the least helpful thing in any given situation.

"Would you explain exactly what you just said, or are you in the habit of speaking whatever drivel decides to dribble out of your mouth? In either case don't answer, it was a rhetorical question anyway." This came from the resident spy, who looked nothing like James Bond or Mata Hari, and he dressed like neither, as the former was out of his price range and the latter would cause nightmares.

"Now Severus, you really should behave and at the very least cooperate with those you work with, because it makes everything so much nicer and it makes you a more likable person." The Headmaster, who had slipped back into his lighthearted personality, propagated this pompous pontification promptly, with only perfunctory concern given to the outcome.

"Albus, I have told you many times, sometimes to the point where I want to stab you with a blade with the message etched into it. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. BE. NICE. Now, must I spell that out letter by bloody letter, or will you let sleeping dogs lie? You know what, screw you guys, I'm going home."

He was out the door before anybody could think of stopping him, and the speed with which he took his leave stunned all those present.

When they had recovered, several choice opinions found themselves expressed, from the boorish and obscene coming from the youngest male Weasely, to the shock that only a person of superior age can attain from Minerva McGonagall. Molly decided to corral the 'youthful enthusiasm' her second youngest showed so often, although she did nothing to alter the content of the aforementioned enthusiasm, either because at the age of 53 years she had found it to be a futile gesture, or she was tired of trying.

"Ronald Bilius Weasely! Watch your language or I'll… I'll… I'll sic the twins on you, with a carte blanche to boot," she thundered in the most menacing voice and posture she could muster, Normally she would not use this ultimate of trump cards so early in the game, but at the present, her nerves were running as well as an Edsel, and her patience had nearly the flight time of the Hindenburg during its final mooring. A very quiet and passive Ron took his seat and started to stare at his twiddling thumbs, praying to Merlin and Hecate that his mother did not notice him again, at least until the storm clouds above her head had disappeared far into the distance.

"Thank you for that show of serenity Molly, however loud that display may have been. Now getting onto the business I called you all here to deliberate: what do we do about our Mr. Potter, who seems kidnapped by the Dark Lord or one of his agents?"

"What the bloody hell do you mean, 'what to do about Harry?' We find him, rescue him and bring him back to where he is safe with a guard protecting him." This fiery statement came from Tonks, who had broken out of her stupor when Mt. Molly decided to erupt in full glory.

"Admirable sentiments, but just how do you propose to discover the whereabouts of Mr. Potter, Hm? I am quite sure that asking the Dark Lord would be no help even if you somehow managed to make within earshot of him, for he will most likely be either very facetious and dismissive or very angry that no one informed him sooner. Finally, thanks to Mr. Personality over here, our resident spy has taken a French leave, leaving us with not even an indirect line of communiqué with the enemy, something that can be very valuable in a situation such as this." Kingsley Shacklebolt, who until this time been mostly silent, decided to vent the frustrations building within him in a semi-controlled manner, albeit in a quite sarcastic vein.

"Well I'm sorry Captain Obvious, but perhaps instead of pointing out the many flaws and difficulties in my proposed plan of action, you could help figure out how to get our savoir to safety. If you would be so kind as to give your plan to retrieve the object of our collective attentions, I am quite sure that it would have none of the glaring flaws that mine had," by the time she was finished you could almost see the steam rising from her ears, and her death glare was almost as chilling as the Artic in January.

"No. I have neither a plan nor the proclivity to invent one, although frankly I think Harry is a big boy who can take care of himself, as shown by his exploits in the past. Remember that he has gotten out of worse spots, and those often were involved with the Dark Lord, and with some sort of factor that would defeat even people as experienced as Mad Eye, who is no easy fish to fry. So I say we all stop worrying about him as if he is some toddler who has found a poisonous reptile, and start taking into consideration that he can easily take good care of himself, without a massive waste of resources." As he finished, an air of finality hung in the room, broken only when he made for the exit with powerful strides, the pleas for him to remain left unheeded.

The rest of the meeting quickly devolved from there, with end result being that many things were said, proposed and voted on, but as in every form of government, nothing was actually done, with little prospect of any action in the near future.


	5. Dreams can be scary

Harry woke up in the same room as before, he moved to put his glasses on before he recollected that he did not need them anymore. His dreams seemed to have been underwritten by the estate of Lewis Carroll, because his subconscious must have gone through the looking glass a few hundred times for the dreams to be this weird.

His dream had started out the same as most of his others: with the pain and suffering of the innumerable multitudes at the hands of a sadistic madman and his men in tights. Then things became rather odd, for in walked several very beautiful naked women, none of whom paid the slightest attention to the carnage surrounding them, nor did they pay attention to the deer-in-headlights look sported by their host, Mr. Potter. For the next few minutes things became somewhat of a blur, although he did remember something about eating a pussyful of ice cream, which he found to be a rather unique taste, although an acquired one. Then something that looked like a creature from an American film he had once caught a glimpse of, _Aliens_, came in and started doing the cha-cha, from which point things quickly devolved into something vaguely resembling a Monty Python sketch made while all the crew were stoned, or Yellow Submarine. Moreover, to end the entire thing, a replica of John Cleese walked in, regaled in his signature sensible suit, and announced, "Now for something completely different…" At that point, Harry woke up, not in a sweat or screaming, as a regular nightmare would have caused, but just up, making for a very odd sensation, much like when one has too much sleep, and cannot bear to rest one moment longer.

Harry walked into the bathroom, and moved under the natural waterfall that somehow ran through the very building itself; a thing which puzzled him to no end. He had not seen a single electric light in the whole place, the entire time he had been held captive here, nor had he seen indoor plumbing, save for the odd freshwater waterfall, that seemed to supply the chief means of washing. Shaking off these meanderings of the mind, Harry set about the morning ablutions that so often would escape him at #4 due to several reasons, although the chief amongst these were the two specimens of an unclassified species of Hippopotamus that somehow have a familial connection to him. He luxuriated in the feeling of the warm water washing away the troubles that lay on his shoulders on a daily basis, and found the longer he stayed in the more relaxed he became, although unknown to him this was due to a mild analgesic in the water. By the time he stepped out from under the water, he felt as limp as a boned fish, and he could barely remember what had troubled him so much earlier in the day, and he turned his mind to much more pleasant thoughts, such as the girls in that dream of his.

He could have sworn that he had seen them before, but every time he tried to focus in on a single trait, the entire picture blurred beyond recognition, frustrating him enough that he contemplated taking another shower. However, then it dawned on him, like the bright sunrise seen from an a ship lost in a storm, that he was trying to hard to see the girls, that he didn't have to focus in on any particular trait, but just see what came to him. Just as he reached this epiphany, a woman, whom he believed they called Beriadanwe came in and greeted him in whatever language that they spoke in this region, and the soft lilting sounds made by her voice nearly made him forget where he was.

Harry responded with what he believed to be the appropriate response, "Bûbhosh!"

Beri's response to this was a hard smack on the face. Harry, having little knowledge of precisely what the many strange pictographs of the rolls of parchment they gave him meant, had picked one of the transliterations at the top of the first parchment he could find. He had just called Beri 'pig guts', the equivalent of calling one's enemy a swine, or some other form of lower life; this most understandably did not have the desired effect on relations between the two elves.

When Harry attempted to indicate an alternative message by pointing at the scroll, he pointed at "Glob kâl," which brought about the same result as his previous attempt at communication, thus further discouraging him from attempting meaningful conversation without a translation. This time he had called her a woman of ill repute, although most know these persons as prostitutes, a thing that is universally offensive to those of the fairer sex.

This time, instead of attempting to communicate once more, Beri stalked hastily out of the room, passing her Lords on the way out, and fuming loudly enough for people at Osgiliath to hear her quite clearly.

"My Lords, your son is impossible!" Even though Sauron was supposed to be the most powerful being within ten thousand leagues, the vision of Beriadanwe in a foul mood was something one generally tried to steer clear from, for health reasons. As such, he flattened himself up against the wall as much as possible to dissuade the raven-haired woman from committing grievous bodily injury upon him, something she would have no compunction about upon later reflection.

The blonde elf directly on his right hid behind a nearby statue that fairly concealed and shielded his body from most angles of attack, and as he did so, he hoped that at least this time she would be gentle. He still had bruises from the time he had accidentally had her mother transported to the palace dungeons. In all fairness, the puppy and bouquet of flowers could have been booby trapped with an explosive, and Legolas had just woken up from a war flashback about an incident with explosives at Helm's Deep.

"Legolas, do have any idea what that was about?"

"Not a clue, neither do I really want to know. Knowledge of what pisses her off dwarfs the great library at Minas Tirith, and remembering it is too much hard work."

"What say we go in and have a talk with our son, eh?"

"I don't know, we have no idea about whether he will even want to be with us."

"I love you, but sometimes you give dumb blondes a bad name. He was covered in bruises, his energy felt half-dead, and on top of all that he was badly malnourished when we found him. Do you honestly think that he would voluntarily choose to return to the place we picked him up?"

"Oh, yeah. You are somewhat right." This response only served to raise the darker man's eyes heavenward in a silent plea for the virtues of tolerance and patience, even though he knew this to be fruitless.

The pair moved to the doors that separated them from their child, all the while rehearsing the meaning of some of the more colloquial of the many lingua franca expressions of the English language.

The pair of fathers had taken it upon themselves to learn a fair amount of English; in a give and take situation such as this, they had thought it advisable. Maybe now they could explain to their child the changes that had come over his body, and reveal the truth of his heritage and peel back the layers of lies surrounding the truth.

"Hello Harry." Sauron started off, trying out a simple sentence, which he believed to be the correct way of speaking this bizarre tongue called English.

"You can speak? Great! Here I am making a fool of my self and you can speak! Why didn't you..." Legolas cut him off with a hand over his mouth, stopping the stream of fast paced ranting before a full head of steam could develop.

"Calm down, Harry. We could not always speak English; we learned it just so we could communicate with you."

"What we are going to tell you will most likely shock and confuse you. We are your parents, Harry; you are our son."

When Harry heard the blonde one say this, he thought, 'Wow, it _**is**_ true what they say about blondes'. Aloud he replied with, "Do you have any idea how utterly fucking stupid that sounds? I can't be your kid, you're both men and men lack many things necessary to the process of reproduction, most notably the other set of chromosomes and the egg, along with some of the more fun parts of the anatomy."

"I don't know what a chromosome is, but I do know that you are my son. I had the swollen ankles and backache from Hell for five months, and it is very hard to forget the day you came into the world at two in the morning, by the Valar." The fair-haired Legolas told the disbelieving youthful istari, although this ardent assertion did almost nothing to assuage the misgivings of the adolescent man.

"You carried me? Exactly how did you do this rather remarkable feat? How was I conceived?" The fact that the blonde had persisted in this particular line of expression forced Harry to ask some of the more uncomfortable questions that found themselves as part of a working arsenal meant to either trip up or incriminate those believed to be lying.

The entire tête-à-tête had taken a left turn at weird; gone a few miles past creepy and they suddenly arrived at surreal, complete with a three-ring circus featuring artwork by Salvador Dali and a partially anthropomorphized elephant-scorpion hybrid directing traffic while signing 'God Save the Queen'.

"Well… I am sure I can get you a book that will explain it all to you in detail, son. Come on let's go look in the lib…" Sauron was most definitely uncomfortable with the current subject matter, something that amused the blonde-haired elf to no end, for the big bad Leader of Middle Earth was deathly afraid of **the** 'talk'.

"Sit down, both of you! You, my gracious husband, are not going anywhere; you are going to sit down on this long chair [read couch, sofa, etc. and support me through this you bonehead. Yes, sit there- no not there, sit there - and do not stand up again. I will be watching you, and I see all."

Harry had originally pegged the dark haired elf as the most dangerous of the pair, although now he was reassessing the blonde's combat abilities, which must be formidable for the lissome elf to scare the other so badly.

"Harry, when two people really love each –"

"FORGET IT! I am sorry I asked, now please move onto a more pleasant topic!"

"It appears he inherited your squeamishness about the elfin anatomy and relationships in general, and judging how he is trying to hide under the chair pillows [read couch/sofa cushions he also inherited your abilities at hide and find [hide and seek. Would be so good as to pull your son out from under the pillows so we may resume our discussion? Thank you so very much.

"Harry, now I am a submissive male elf, and as such, I have several things which human males and dominant elves do not, namely a full functional set of female reproductive organs, which I believe Mr. Tolkien said made me a hermaphrodite. You were created from the union of my husband and me, ten months before your birth; nearly the same time it takes a human child to mature in the womb. If you require further proof I will show the aforementioned organs to you during a private show, I only ask that you not stare excessively at my breasts."

Harry was close to catatonic, repeating in his head that this could not be happening, that all of this was yet another part of his extremely strange dream, although deep under his denial he knew that all he heard was true. He would not even go within ten kilometers of the apparent fact that his evidently male mother, in essence, was offering to give him a private peep show, with a couple of provisos. He decided that when he escaped, the first thing he would do would be to find a therapist, some powerful anti-deliriants and sort through all of this; either that or attempt to drown his problems at the bottom of a bottle of his associates, Mr. Daniels or Mr. Beem.

"Honey, I think we need to continue this particular conversation another time, as he seems to be attempting to block out all that you are saying."

"Right you are, let's get to work on teaching him the language of his fathers."

"Which language do you mean for us to school him in, dear? There are Westron, Sindarin, Quenya, Valarin, and your own language of Black Speech, so which do you propose to teach him? We are both fluent in at least a variation from all of the above so we communally have a quite impressive linguistic repertoire from which to choose."

"Yes, I know all that. However, neither of us are very good teachers in anything other than warfare, a very limited use subject to say the least. I am sure you remember the one time I tried to teach Beri that game I made up."

"Ah yes, it is actually a rather fond memory for me, however, you did not invent that game, sir. Mr. Tolkien showed you how to play that infernal game and you have not stopped since in seventy-three years. Anyway, I remember you had taken Beri into the recreation room, and about twenty minutes later, she ran out in tears screaming about how it was dodge ball all over again."

"Well excuse me for attempting to teach her the sport of champions."

"Ping Pong is not the sport of champions. Archery is the sport of champions, a game of skill and determination."

The other man took great offense at this slander against the noble game of lords. "You only say that because you really suck at Ping Pong."

"You took away my paddle-"

"You kept spanking me with it, trying to get me in the sack."

"You hit that hard little ball at my head-"

"You were not supposed to head-butt the damned thing like in football."

"- and you wouldn't even let me love you later that night."

"You showed up to the conference I was having between the northern Dwarves and the Mirkwood Elves in only a thong with the words 'Love Slave' painted on your chest in big red letters."

"… I was drunk."

"Understatement. That is an utter understatement on your part. You must have drunk half the booze from here to Hobbiton, and it certainly smelled like you had bathed in gin.


End file.
